


Part Three: Black Smoke

by doctorcanon



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: All Character Deaths are Canonical within Crimson Flower, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BL!Sylvain, CF!Felix, Canonical Character Death, Crimson Flower, Dark, Multi, Slow Burn, emphasis on the hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:01:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23586535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorcanon/pseuds/doctorcanon
Summary: "The man on the mattress was once a mountain; tall, bulky, and knotted with muscle. Hubert would say he’s a son of Faerghus just by looking at him. But a week of malnutrition makes it hard to confirm. Bandages cover him from head to toe. Yellow and black stains leak through the ones that cover his burns. His face is covered like he’s already dead. He’s so still Edelgard wonders if he died in the short time it took Bacia to take her over here. He’s entirely indistinguishable. Even his hair is caked in a layer of dust. The occasional tuft of red hair isn’t enough to distinguish him from any other ginger in the Imperial Army."Fareghus has fallen, the bodies of all the unclaimed soldiers are burned in pyres all over the city. All of Fodlan takes a moment to mourn their great loss and the difficult road ahead. However, their introspection is cut short when someone starts screaming and thrashing inside one of the pyres. For all intents and purposes, the man should be dead. However no matter how grievous his injury, he just refuses to die. His face is burned beyond hair; no one can identify him until Dorothea gets a good look as his face, that is.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Bernadetta von Varley, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Jeritza von Hrym/My Unit | Byleth, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Various Hinted Crimson Flower Ships
Comments: 5
Kudos: 66





	Part Three: Black Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably one of the more gory pieces I've written. It will get worse. Please heed the tags.

The Mad King of Faerghus might be dead, but his steward Rufus is still a threat. They turn Castle Blaidydd inside out in search of him. They find refugees huddled in terrified masses, children that have been abandoned by cowardly parents and the occasional suicidal knight who would rather die in service of their king. As promised, they spare anyone who surrenders. These people receive food and leave to return to what’s left of their homes. Others wail in the streets. Some even take their own lives. Fraldarius is right. Faerghus’ wretched “warrior’s spirit” is like a virus. It infects those who have so little hope for their own lives, they place everything on their king who was crushed under the weight. 

However, there are a special few who find hope in the Empire and never trusted Rhea. Denizens of House Rowe and Gaspard come to help identify the dead. Dowager Gaspard takes Ashe Ubert’s body but vanishes shortly after. They turn their heads as Lord Caron mourns his daughter, Catherine. Hubert questions him but he doesn’t know where Rufus could have gone. Once the fires of war are extinguished, every healer and undertaker within marching distance descends on Fhirdiad. Unsurprisingly, the healers of Garreg Mach arrive first including one Bacia Erdene who took over in Manuela’s absence.

While she assists bereaved families, but the unclaimed are stripped of their armor and thrown into the nearest pile. Several new fires pop up throughout the city. The stench of burning flesh fills the air. Tonight, the survivors stand in unity. Some crying, others reciting hymns and prayers, while others stand in shell-shocked silence. Edelgard watches as soldiers and civilians alike take comfort in each other. The old ways of Seiros are gone. Despite the pain and loss, the people -  _ her people _ \- are finally coming together as one Fodlan. This is only the beginning. 

“Lady Edelgard?” Bacia has to attend to the living. She’s not interested in watching the pyres burn. “I don’t remember you having Srengi officers in your army.” She says. Bacia hands her a fur-lined tasset. Odd. These aren’t typically seen in Fodlan. The Professor recruited people from all over but doesn’t remember anyone explicitly from Sreng besides Bacia. Honestly, he didn’t even recruit her, she simply refused to leave Garreg Mach for Mauela’s sake.

“Did you find someone you know?” Edelgard asks. Bacia opens her mouth to answer but she’s interrupted by a horrible scream. Many citizens take off running in the opposite direction as something in the pyre wails and thrashes. Bacia hands Edelgard the tasset and races toward the flaming pile of shifting bodies. She grabs the undertaker and a few others who aren’t afraid of vengeful spirits or burns. 

It takes a massive heave to pull the flaming, writhing body from the pile. People race to throw blankets over him but it’s too late. The screams turn into dying gurgles. Eventually the man stops moving, his skin still sizzling. Someone vomits. Now the citizens are united in the horror of watching a man burn alive. People turn away when Bacia peels the blanket off. A patch of skin goes with it. He’s covered in dirt and blood. It’s hard to tell if any of him can be spared. With a heavy heart, Bacia takes the man’s limp hands and places them over his chest. She bends her head to pray until she feels the gentle rise and fall of the young man’s battered chest. Urgency overcomes horror, she listens for a heartbeat.

“Holy Gods, he’s still breathing.” She mutters. Thin, burbling gasps, but breathing nonetheless. The undertaker approaches her with an axe, ready to put an end to this misery. “No, you idiot! Bring a cart and some more blankets.” Everyone stands around, hesitant. What good could clinging to life possibly do for this poor soul? Frankly, Edelgard is a little curious. 

“You heard her.” The Emperor says. Everyone turns to her as if they just realized she’d been standing there. “Get moving!” They scatter.

Bacia tries to provide her newest patient some comfort. She places his head in her lap. The elevation will drain the bloody spume plugging up his throat. His face is almost beyond repair, but she can tell he’s young. She’d wager he’s not even 30. She can only imagine the pain he will endure if he makes it through the night but if there’s a chance, she will take it. No man who survives three days bleeding in a field wants to die. She doesn’t know who he is, but bent over his body like this she finds something familiar.

It’s caked in dry blood but she can make out red and black ink sewn into the man’s skin. She gingerly pulls the collar down to reveal hawk feather tattoos curling around his body that will surely lead to a larger hawk on his back. These aren’t the intricate patterns of Brigid, nor are they the straight angles of Almyra. These feathers can only be made by the gentle pin pricks of Srengi healers. She’s done it to so many warriors in her time. In fact, her own mother printed her Healer’s Dove when she was only sixteen. Having been gone from Sreng for so long, she’s missing quite a few feathers, but this young man already has so many. She doesn’t recall any Srengi warriors in Edelgard’s army. Her heart falls into her stomach. Edelgard dares to come closer. Bacia throws the blanket back over the man’s face before she can look.

“Are you sure it’s not best to make it quick?” Edelgard asks. Bacia can’t answer right away. As a healer, she wants to keep the man alive. As a woman of Sreng, she wants answers. 

“Yes.” She looks into Edelgard’s eyes, silently pleading with her god that she won’t ask her to elaborate. Her prayers are answered as everyone she sent off arrives back with what they need. Loading up the man into the cart is not an easy task. He’s over six feet tall, about 200lbs of muscle and very, very delicate. As they roll him inside, Bacia hesitates for a moment. Edelgard still has the tasset. “May I?” It’s stained and tattered but undeniably Srengi. She has to fight not to bury her face in it. That man and this tasset are pieces of home. For years, her insurmountable debt to Rhea kept her in Fodlan. Now, she doesn’t know what to do. 

“You have become quite an asset the last few days, Ms. Erbene. I’m not surprised. You have quite a presence. I hope you will stay with us for the foreseeable future.” Why does that sound like a threat? “Did you know that man?” Bacia suddenly feels cold. 

“No. But he seemed familiar.” She avoids the Emperor’s piercing gaze. “He could’ve been anyone, honestly. I could’ve fed him in Garreg Mach, maybe I’ve patched him up before. Perhaps once we clean him, someone will recognize him. Excuse me.” She bows at the waist and turns to follow the cart. Edelgard’s gaze burns. 

Two days later, Edelgard suddenly puts her in charge of Patient Care. It’s not surprising to everyone else. Bacia worked as Garreg Mach’s Head Cook for years and was in charge of the infirmary during the war. Contrary to popular belief, she didn’t stay at the monastery for Edelgard’s sake. She made a promise to Manuela and she’s determined to keep it. Everyone already seems to defer to her. After all she and Mercedes are one of the few doctors around that aren’t combat medics. However, Mercedes is miles away in Enbarr still caring for the casualties of Tailtean. Unlike her, Bacia hasn’t sworn loyalty to The Empire. Not yet. Perhaps Edelgard thinks that if she gives her a position of power, she’ll stay loyal. She certainly wants her to stick around. They make Castle Blaiddyd an official field hospital. They take a census of the dead and ready the wounded for transport to Enbarr. She spends all day tending to her patients and reports to Ms. Arnault every night. She doesn’t seem to care when she reports that the Burning Knight is still alive. 

So naturally, the Castle Blaidydd is wholly unprepared for Lady Edelgard to appear flanked by Hubert and the aforementioned Dorothea. 

“I actually haven’t seen him.” Dorothea says. “I’m spending a lot of my time distributing resources. Some of these nobles had pretty massive food stores they didn’t want to spend on their people. So far, Bacia just reports to me to tell me everything’s going smoothly. Remember how she ran the kitchen in Garreg Mach? I trust her to get things done.” 

Her trust is well placed. For all intents and purposes, the entire base level is now a makeshift hospital. Secret passages, stables and bedrooms alike must be cleared out to make room for the remaining Imperial Forces. It appears the late king neglected his people for military might. One could easily say she pushed them into this terrible situation. 

They could’ve also surrendered. Now, they can’t allow the Blaiddyd line to continue. There’s still no sign of Rufus Blaiddyd anywhere. He sits in the back of Edelgard’s mind like a looming threat. It’s regrettable but once they find him he and anyone with him must die. 

Bacia’s entire operation runs like a conditioned war horse. Patients must sleep on the floor but they are organized in neat, orderly rows. Those who are able to walk gladly help with minor duties such as cleaning and cooking. Families of injured soldiers routinely bathe and feed those who can’t care for themselves. They even have some of the younger girls in town knitting bandages. The boys take care of the washing. There’s a large slate in the foyer with a rotation schedule complete with consequences for not following it. 

_ All Volunteers must report to Ms. Erbene in the severe patient’s wing _ . 

The Severe Patients are kept in what was once Castle Blaiddyd’s Grand Ballroom. It’s quiet. Only nurses and close family are allowed back here. Some knights, like Ferdinand, are on the mend. Others wait to die. Some have passed from this world without dying at all. Edelgard silently thanks them for their sacrifice. They find Ms. Erbene with her back turned as she’s double checking ledgers.

“I’m busy right now.” She says before Edelgard even gets a chance to say anything. “If you’re here to volunteer, put your name on the list and join the girls in the front with the washing. Also we need more bandages. Anything you can provide will be useful, even clothing scraps.” 

“That’s not why we’re here.” Edelgard says. Bacia let out a little squeak as she whips around. She quickly curtsies. 

“My apologies, your majesty. I’ve been...busy.” She clears her throat. “I didn’t expect you until we started moving out to Enbarr.” Never let it be said that Bacia Erbene is anything but all business. “Lord Von Aegir is finally on the mend, but he’s still in no condition to accept any visitors. Particularly not any that would  _ disturb _ him.” Her eyes flick briefly to Hubert but she doesn’t elaborate. 

“No, actually. We’re here to see the knight that was found in the pyre.” Edelgard says pointedly. Hesitation looks strange on Bacia. She glances incredulously from Hubert to Dorothea and back to Edelgard. She’s not in the position to ask why but godsdamnit does she want to. 

“Very well. Come with me.” She says offering a hand through the doors and further back into Fodlan’s Fanciest Makeshift Infirmary. They briefly stop to see Ferdinand but as Miss Erbene says, he’s too heavily drugged to do anything. When Hubert lingers for a little too long, Edelgard decides it’s too quiet.

“No one has come to claim him?” Edelgard asks, just to make sure. Bacia doesn’t appreciate her implications. 

“I even asked one of the soldiers from Faerghus. Nothing.” She replies a bit sharper than she intended. She hears Dorothea mutter, “ _ Settle down, Hubie _ ,” but she doesn’t look back. 

“Any lapses in consciousness?” Edelgard asks again. 

“Yes, actually,” Bacia says. “I’m doing everything I can to keep him sedated but every so often he tries to make conversation. I can’t understand a word he says, but he’s certainly cognizant of his surroundings.” 

“What do you think he’s saying?” Dorothea asks, unbidden. 

“If I had to guess?  _ Kill me. _ ” Bacia responds bluntly. “Burns are the most painful external injury you can sustain. It’s not just a slash or a stab. Fire  _ changes _ your skin and whatever it burns off, doesn’t grow back.” Dorothea doesn’t ask anything else. This time, Bacia looks back only to see the woman looking quite pale. “What will happen to him when we take him back to the capital?” 

“I suppose we’ll have to ascertain his identity. Regardless of who he is, if he won’t swear loyalty to the Empire, we’ll have to decide what to do with him. Such tenacity can’t be allowed to run wild.” Edelgard says much to Hubert’s delight.

“So if he’s loyal to Faerghus or the Alliance…?” Bacia asks as they stop at the curtain tuck in a secluded corner.

“It would be a pity to imprison him after such an arduous recovery.” Edelgard replies sharply. Hubert is so proud of her majesty. Worst case scenario is this man is the only loyal son of Faergus left. In that case, she’ll leave him to Fraldarius. Perhaps he’ll beat some sense into him. 

Bacia opens the curtain. The man on the mattress was once a mountain; tall, bulky, and knotted with muscle. Hubert would say he’s a son of Faerghus just by looking at him. But a week of malnutrition makes it hard to confirm. Bandages cover him from head to toe. Yellow and black stains leak through the ones that cover his burns. His face is covered like he’s already dead. He’s so still Edelgard wonders if he died in the short time it took Bacia to take her over here. He’s entirely indistinguishable. Even his hair is caked in a layer of dust. The occasional tuft of red hair isn’t enough to distinguish him from any other ginger in the Imperial Army. 

There are three possibilities: 

  1. He’s a plant. A part of Rhea’s last contingency plan to take the Empire down, potentially leaving Fodlan in chaos.
  2. He’s extraordinarily lucky, maybe even favored by the goddess. The most unlikely option.
  3. His crest simply won’t let him die.



There are at least six major and minor crests known to preserve the life of the host, sometimes to their own detriment. How else can a man survive for so long peppered with holes and slashes only to nearly be burned alive? Unfortunately, no one knows what kind of crest he could have. It will take weeks to pull Hanneman away from his work at Garreg Mach so they can’t test him. They disposed of the patient’s armor when building the pyre. They can’t even identify him let alone what side he’s on. 

“I can’t show you much of his face but it’s enough to get a good idea of who he could be.” Bacia rolls up her sleeves. She doesn’t know why the Emperor’s eyes would be superior to anyone else’s but she washes her hands and dons a fresh pair of gloves. She takes the sheet and lifts it very gently. Small specks of charred skin cling to the linen. The right side of his face is ripped apart by flames leaving nothing but a massive splotch of red and black scars. The burns reach into his formerly red hair leaving portions of his scalp entirely bald. There’s nothing in his eye socket but the other gazes out. His single brown eye wanders the scenery, glazed and unfocused until it finds Dorothea.

He starts to tremble. His chest heaves with ragged gasps. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out at first. He reaches out with his one good hand and grabs at nothing. They don’t realize that he’s trying to reach her until he lets out a loud, guttural groan that belongs in a grave. Dorothea covers her mouth to stifle a horrified gasp. It’s fleeting, but Bacia catches that moment of familiarity. Ms. Arnault knows this man. He doesn’t have the breath to speak. He starts choking. His mouth is so dry, foamy white spit starts spilling out. His eye rolls back. His body starts to convulse. Bacia curses and tries to soothe him. 

“Katia!” She cries for her nurse. She looks at everyone else. “Leave. Now.” Dorothea needs no encouragement, she whips around on her heel and doesn’t stop until she’s outside. Edelgard and Hubert step away, dumbfounded. There’s no way a general in the Imperial Army is a stranger to gore. Edelgard chases after Dorothea just as Nurse Katia blazes by them but Hubert lingers. He watches the women burn rue flowers and tuck the incense under the man’s nose. The nurse turns to him and angrily shuts the curtain in his face. 

He finds Edelgard and Dorothea outside. Edelgard still isn’t used to physical contact but she stands valiantly by her friend and comforts her as best she can. Dorothea isn’t the type to lose control. Even in grief she’s graceful, perhaps even happy to carry the burden of such sadness. But now, something has reached inside of her and shaken every bit of resolve she had left. Hubert sighs and pulls a handkerchief from his sleeve. Edelgard eyes him but he offers it to Dorothea. She takes it without hesitation, staining it with her makeup. 

“Dorothea, did you recognize him?” Hubert asks, taking her other side. To his surprise, Dorothea shakes her head before she can respond. 

“No...no…” It sounds more like she’s trying to convince herself. “For a second I…” She pauses but shakes her head again. “I’m...I’m sorry I just…” Words fail her for a third time. Edelgard and Hubert exchange worried glances over her head. Dorothea sniffles and silence follows. She gazes down at her hands, now riddled with mascara and the blood of the Empire’s enemies. She clenches her fists tightly and does the same with her eyes. Edelgard lets her gather her courage. Out of everyone, war is hardest on the commoners. Dorothea is no exception. Going from a renowned diva to a feared imperial general...Edelgard hadn’t considered what kind of a toll that could take on her friend until now. 

“It’s okay, Dorothea, you don’t have to say it now,” Edelgard says, knowing she will have to sooner or later. Dorothea’s helpless face has no place in her empire. When they dismantle the wretched nobility system, she’ll only have reasons to smile. She takes Dorothea’s face in her hands and wipes her tears. Dorothea leans into Edie’s warm hands gently pressing a kiss into them. She wants to meet Edelgard’s eyes but she just can’t so she nods silently. 

“Go on ahead.” Hubert says making to head back inside the infirmary. “I have some more business here.” Dorothea hesitates. Edelgard does not. Torn, Dorothea decides to follow Edelgard but not without looking back at Hubert a few times before disappearing past the castle gates. 

By the time Hubert finds Miss Erbene again, the patient’s head is in her lap. She whispers comforting Srengi nothings to him. The man must understand what she’s saying because his good hand clutches hers so hard that it’s shaking. He’s panting and drooling. He likely needs water but doesn’t have the wind to ask for or swallow it. The nurse is at his other side, reapplying some sutures. It seems his fit caused quite a few of them to burst. It’s a wonder the man has any more blood to spill. Bacia might be stern but she’s clearly too softhearted. She should’ve let the undertaker kill him. 

“No more visitors.” Bacia declares. “You’ve done quite enough.” She turns back to her patient, shushing him gently. Hubert has seen this side of her several times before. At her age, it wouldn’t surprise him if she had children. Though if she does, she never speaks of them. “It’s  _ very _ important for burn victims to be in a sterile environment. Many of his wounds are already infected. I  _ really _ don’t need anything else disturbing him.” Hubert ignores her and looks at the man in her arms. Through what must be unimaginable pain, his one brown eye holds Hubert’s gaze. He almost can’t tell but the man is actually  _ glaring  _ at him.

Portions of the man’s face are entirely untouched save for a rather sizable bruise up his jaw line. The patient once had a high bow, a proportionate but slightly hooked nose and full lips. No sign of laugh lines but his skin is rough and battered by the elements. If he had to guess, his calluses suggest a spear wielder. 

He thinks back to all of the pikemen of Tailteann. Even Sylvain Gautier, astride his horse and hellbent on revenge. He hardly remembers the man’s face but he remembers seeing him pinned to the ground by a sword like a butterfly on a corkboard. It’s no use, the man’s face is too damaged to stoke any sense of familiarity. He hears Miss Erbene’s impatient sigh and rights himself. He takes a vial from his cloak and beckons for her to take it. When she does, she stares incredulously at it for a few seconds. She looks at him with the exact same expression. 

“If you  _ do _ find out who he is, ensure his loyalty to the empire. Should he refuse or become  _ unruly _ , use this. His tenacity may yet be an asset but not if he poses a threat to Emperor Hresvelg.” Hubert says sternly. 

“He’s not dangerous.” Bacia insists to Hubert’s retreating back. He grants her a mere glance. 

“Secrets not known to the Empire are dangerous.” With that, he leaves her to her work.

Bacia feels cold again. What will happen if the Empire decides she’s too  _ dangerous _ to have around? Fodlan has never been kind to Sreng and that won’t change overnight. What will happen when they have no need of her? She doubts swearing fealty to Edelgard will save her from Lord Hubert. Her war is not over. Five years of hardship and suffering and ten years away from her homeland. She’s alone. She starts to shake.

“Katia, could you get me some more valerian, please?” She asks. Katia is a good nurse. She does whatever her doctor asks of her as long as it serves the good of the patient. She will make a good living in Enbarr when this is all over. “Pull the curtain behind you.” Alone, she looks down at the young man in her lap. He stares at her and he tries to keep his breath steady. She just brushes his hair from his face and tries to keep him calm. She doesn’t want to trigger another seizure. He stares with such intensity. It’s like he’s trying to tell her something but she only feels the barest familiarity. Something about the red hair and the strong jaw line. He’s far too pale to be from Sreng but his inkwork could only be done by needlepoint. Hawks are usually worn by pikemen and lancers and his hawk is a splendid work of art even when it’s marred by burns and cuts. It’s wingspan spreads across both his shoulder blades. The feathers represent honorable deeds. He has quite a few. It’s not unheard of in wartime but it is admirable nonetheless.

She sighs so heavily her body sags with its weight. She’s so tired. The weight of uncertainty bends her head low. She screws her eyes shut, desperate to stave off the dark cloud brewing in her mind. It’s easy to lose herself in work, but these moments where she has nothing but a needy young patient and her own dangerous thoughts are becoming more frequent. The Srengi have a saying about despair: you can lose yourself to it, but only quietly. She guards her heart and tries to be strong. But so many knights have died; many of them in her arms. It doesn’t sit well in the heart. It doesn’t matter what side they’re on, they’re children, mothers, fathers...no matter what they died for, a loss is still a loss. She feels every one of them. She tries to fight it but a few tears slip through. She’s too old to be crying like this, damn it. 

Then something touches her cheek. She opens her eyes and her patient gently paws at her tears. Her heart breaks. She should be ashamed, getting so caught up in her own weakness that a man who should be dead is trying to comfort her. He opens his mouth to try to speak but she shushes him gently.

“Hush now…” She hates how her voice cracks. “Katia will be back soon and you’ll be able to sleep again, alright?” He doesn’t listen. His voice is thin, damaged and comes out in a hoarse whisper not the ghastly wail from before. She doesn’t catch what he says at first. “Don’t push yourself, son…”

“ _ Na...naryrun...toloo...b...b...bainaaa…ka...nnnnna _ .”  _ Please don’t cry, Sister.  _ Her broken heart seizes with shock. He  _ speaks _ Srengi. He even called her  _ Kanna _ . You don’t give that name to just anyone. That’s for your sister-in-arms. Your Kanna is someone who’s not related by blood but by hardship. No one has called her Sister in over a decade. The tears come unbidden now. She touches her hand to his and presses it against her cheek. He continues to whisper in broken Srengi until he’s too exhausted to stay awake. She gently coaxes him to sleep with a soft hush.

“ _ Sain baragai, Kallo. Ba chamang golli ayun _ .”  _ Be well, Brother. I will keep you safe.  _ Whoever he is,  _ what _ ever he is: she must get him back to Sreng. 

**Author's Note:**

> Srengi is a mostly made up language based off of Tamora Pierce's fictional language Trader Speak. Yes, Felix and Sylvain will reunite. When I said Slow Burn, I mean it. Special Thanks to hijackedbylou from tumblr and vibird from the Sylvix discord for beta-ing my first draft.


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